


Bandits du Bois

by chant_de_lune



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Bandits & Outlaws, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 16:10:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5934646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chant_de_lune/pseuds/chant_de_lune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In medieval France, provinces encircle a vast forest, untamed by nobles and home to all sorts of clever thieves and tricksters.  They keep watch on the woods' roads, robbing those of interest and spreading the riches amongst themselves. This tale begins at the meeting of a lone bandit girl and the Rebel King himself...<br/>(Robin Hood-esque AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tombant Dans un Puits de Mine

**Author's Note:**

> This work was based off the gorgeous piece of fanart by Maria Paula, found here. http://noctefuror.tumblr.com/post/138572317222/i-m-still-not-over-this-i-ll-never-be 
> 
> I thought that in the photo, Clarke seemed to be in a castle, and alas, the story began!

**_Le 4 avril, 1334_ **

“Someone find her! Stop that thief!”

         The wealthy lady’s shrill voice made Clarke grin as she raced through the dense forest.  The king of France could send as many men as he wanted, but they would never find her or any of the light-footed woodfolk who lived amongst the oaks and beeches.  A traveling royal knew of one road through the _Grand Forêt_ , but the insiders knew all of the little paths and creeks which spread like cobwebs through the groves.  They tamed the wilderness, carving their little kingdoms in defiance of the opulence which taxed them into poverty.                                                      

         The heavy thump of the guardsmen’s boots soon faded into the distance when Clarke stopped weaving around trees.  She halted, catching her breath and scanning the area for foes. _All_ _clear._ The air was cool, rays of pure sunlight streaming through the leaves.  Clarke patted the pouch on her hip, feeling the contents still secure.  She spotted a tree a ways off with the four cardinal directions roughly etched into the wood.  Walking towards it, she mentally plotted a course back to her shelter; unfortunately, the ground had a different idea.                                      

         The brush under her feet gave out as she fell into a bandit’s pit.  She cursed as she grabbed a tree root poking out of the dirt, managing to steady herself long enough for her feet to find a small yet sturdy sod ledge. She shook her head as she surveyed the pit; _about twelve feet deep, thorns covering the bottom, and the top out of reach_.  She groaned, gritting her teeth.  _No use_ _trying to get out when the risk of falling in further was too high_.  She took a breath and waited, hoping that whoever found her was exactly who she thought would come, and not bountyhunters.  A few minutes later, she heard a horse’s nicker, boots hitting the ground, and footsteps approaching the pit.  

  The curly mop of dark hair which appeared over the rim confirmed her suspicions of the pit’s creator.  

            “Bandit Blake, I assume?”  she asked sarcastically.  

The face which she had often seen drawn with a scowl on reward posters now broke into a smug smile.  _Safe from harm, but not humiliation._

         “I set this trap for wayfarers, and I catch the _princesse du bois_ instead _._   Is everything alright, your Highness?” 

Clarke shot him an irritated look, rolling her eyes.  

    “Like your infamous name is even better; _Bellamy_ , the pretty one, using his good looks to clean pockets.  Now are you going to help me out of this pit or not?”

Bellamy’s expression became pensive. 

      “Maybe for a small fee.”  

Clarke scoffed. 

       “What fee? You think I have gold on me right now?”  

 Bellamy shrugged and said,  “All I know is that I heard Duchess Diana Sydney on the main Road,  wailing about the loss of her jewels. She must have been heard for miles.  I assume that was your fine work.”  Clarke couldn’t help a small smile. 

     “Indeed it was," she said,  "but these jewels are now mine.  You would be quite a dishonorable thief if you stole them from me in my moment of weakness.” 

 Bellamy looked amused. 

       “I suppose I do have my reputation to consider.  On my honor as a dishonorable thief, if you toss the jewels to me, I will give them back once you reach the top. Besides, I would not leave a woman to her death in a cage like this. I intend to reuse it for wealthier individuals than yourself. “ 

Clarke scowled, reaching to loosen her pouch from the belt when Bellamy chuckled. 

      “Princess, you cannot be that naive.  How will you ever make your fortune as a bandit?” 

She glared at him. 

      “I’m not naive, I’m simply eager to get out.  If you take my catch, I will steal it back ere three days pass.  And my name is Clarke.” 

Bellamy cocked his head, a shadow of a smile on his face. 

      “I know.  I’ve seen your reward posters, Clarke Griffin.” 

 Then he reached down, hand extending towards Clarke.  She grabbed his wrist firmly, climbing out of the pit as his other arm steadied her. 

       “Now are you alright?” he asked, brushing a twig out of her hair.  Clarke stepped out of his reach, clearing her throat. 

         “Thank you very much, Bellamy.  Now, is there something I can do for you, so I have no debt to repay?”

A sneaky smile appeared on Bellamy’s face.

      “Well, there is always the sweetest of favors -“ he murmured, tilting Clarke’s chin up with his thumb. 

He stared at her and she felt her heart jump.His face was graced by dappled sunlight, the brightness making his skin shine like polished bronze.  Then Bellamy stepped back, his other hand clenched. 

     “- Or I think I’ll just take this.  It’ll remind me of your eyes,” he smirked, holding up a sapphire and waving it.  

Clarke’s jaw dropped.  She scowled and swiped at the sapphire, but Bellamy dodged and ducked around an oak; Clarke could see the flank of his horse, a chestnut, behind the

tree-trunk.  She raced forward, but Bellamy swung up onto his horse.

       “Should I be grateful that you’re not robbing me blind? Or flattered?”  asked Clarke icily, hand hovering over the remaining gemstones in her pouch.  

Bellamy smiled good-naturedly, prodding the beast into a trot.  _Better to let him have his victory than spook the horse and risk getting kicked._

     “It seemed the honorable thing for a dishonorable thief to do.  You have three days to get it back.”  Bellamy waved at her smugly as his steed began cantering.  

Clarke fumed for a moment before cupping her hands together.  “They’ll catch you yet, Bellamy Blake!” 

Bellamy turned over his shoulder.  “You’ll hang before I do!  I’ll rule these woods for years.  May we meet again, Clarke Griffin!”  

As he galloped away, Clarke sighed.  She brushed off her clothes, stretched, and started walking the long way back to her camp. 

“May we meet again indeed.” 


	2. Le Roi et Son Royaume Rebelle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The king returns to his people with a treasure.

**_Le même jour_**  

         Bellamy rode his horse through miles of forest, following a creek back to its source.  He came to a waterfall, overspilling over a rocky ledge 50 feet high.  The sound of laughter spurred him forward as he led the chestnut around the stony hill.  The beast was so accustomed to this path that he clopped gracefully over the rocks.  

         “He’s back!” 

Bellamy was accosted with an embrace as he entered the camp. 

        The bandit base stretched from the waterfall to deep within the trees.  Into the rocky ledge, they had carved seats, tables, and little chambers in which to rest.  Above those, they hewed a ledge, spanning the length of the wall, from which to stand and defend the camp.  Across the clearing were scattered tents, a kettle on the fire, and other oddities that they had picked up in their pilfering. Clotheslines and hammocks were strung between the tree trunks, and a few of the oaks had sturdy platforms built into the branches.  It had taken the camp an entire year to become the sprawling complexity it was.  

        To Bellamy, it was home. 

“Easy, Octavia, I’m fine.” He pulled back from the hug to smile at her. Octavia’s hair was pulled back in braids and covered with a purple handkerchief.  Her face was smudged with dirt, and she wore a stolen dark blue livery. 

       “What were you doing today? I thought you would go hunting with me!” she said.   

“I was off checking some of our traps. I have a wonderful story for campfire tonight.”  

       Octavia smiled, looking over to the horse as he neighed. “Oh, let me take Helios.  He looks exhausted, you better not have run him the whole way,” she said sharply, leading Helios towards a tether block carpeted with soft hay. 

        Bellamy sighed, strolling around the little, rag-tag community.  He walked to one of the oak trees and knocked on the wood, whistling a high, sharp note.  Moments later, he heard the squeak of a pulley as a figure descended, suspended on the rope in a leather harness.  

         “How are we looking, Raven?” he asked as she unfastened herself.  

“Some soldiers off to the eastern edge, alongside the carriage of the weeping Duchess Sydney.  There’s a large procession coming through the southern fork of the King’s Road, but I’m sure that Anya and her _gendarbres_ will snatch them up quickly.  You up for a shift at the top?”  

Before Bellamy could answer, a woman brushed past him. 

        “Is that a good idea? The last time he went up after riding all afternoon, he complained about how sore his backside was,” she said, sliding an arm around Raven in a side hug.  Bellamy rolled his eyes. 

       “You’re very funny, Gina. Did I ever tell you that?”   

Gina smirked, pressing a kiss to Raven’s cheek.  “I’ll go up top to the nest, I could use some fresher air.” 

With that, she stepped into the harness, secured it, and hoisted herself to the lowest branch.  When she disappeared in the thick foliage, Raven sighed to herself.  

        “Your lady love is too good for you,” Bellamy chuckled.  Raven punched him lightly in the arm. 

“Shut up.  You know you are not allowed to say that,” she glared, prompting more laughing.  Bellamy craned his neck to stare at the contraption in the oak.  

         “I have to give it to you, Rave.  When you suggested that we rig something to hoist ourselves over the small branches to the top of the tallest tree, I had my doubts.”    Raven scoffed.  

“Doubts?  You wouldn’t stop complaining about _safety_. Has anyone fallen yet?”  She raised an eyebrow.  Bellamy huffed. 

         “No, only because I nicked you that good quality rope.” 

“That robbery was my success, don’t you dare take credit,”  Raven said, clapping him on the arm and walking away. 

            Bellamy smiled before making his way toward the center of camp.  Miller was sitting on a log by the fire, sharpening his knife. 

“How are you doing?” Bellamy asked, sitting down.  Miller glanced up at him.  

           “I’m okay.  I visited Monty while I was in Ton deÇay.  The sheriff’s going to raise their taxes.”  Bellamy nodded solemnly.  _Again, and he always will._

“We have gold in the chest, I’ll arrange a team to distribute it tomorrow.  Anyone ill, injured?” he asked.  

           “Harper just had a baby, and both made it through; everyone else seems to be fine.”  

“Good, that’s good.” Bellamy drummed his fingers on the log, then rose to check on the chest.  

      The chest was heavy and bolted with metal straps.  It was stolen from a duke ages ago, and now it sat between the tents belonging to Bellamy and Miller.  Filled halfway with gold coins, it was an unspoken rule that no one take more than a sackful or carry it off during the night.  He opened it and deposited a handful of coins.   

      Afternoon stretched into night as everyone gathered around the campfire, eating smoked venison and sipping from a cask of wine.  After the meal, the youngest in the camp giggled and tumbled around Bellamy.  He lifted the smallest girl onto his knee. 

       “Now listen, you tricksters and fortune-tellers, you thieving princes and princesses!” Bellamy said in his story-telling voice, settling all the children down.  Another little one climbed into his lap as the rest bunched around him, their eyes wide. 

      “Today, I took Helios across the forest.  I found one of our pits, caved in.  And as I looked over the edge, I saw a head of golden hair… it was _the princesse du bois_!”   The children gasped as the older ones raised their eyebrows.  

       “What did she do?”

“Oh she got all prissy, wanting me to help her out of the pit.”  

       “And did you?” 

“Of course, I am a gentlemen.  But she could have made it out herself.  I was providing a service that required a payment.”    He heard Raven snorting in amusement.

       “So what did you do then?” the little girl on his knee poked him.  Bellamy smiled at her. 

“I helped her out of the pit, and then she asked me if I wanted a favor, so she would not remain in my debt.”  he tapped her nose before turning to the crowd. “So I gave her a grin, and whispered how I was wishing for a favor ever so sweet.  All the while, gazing into her eyes.”  The children oohed, but Octavia mimed a retch.  Bellamy ignored her and continued.  

    “And when the princess was getting all caught up in her romantic fantasies, I took this from her,” he said, drawing out the sapphire.  Everyone young and old exclaimed in shock and excitement.  

       “Listen, listen! I have to hold this gem, and if she can steal it back ere three days pass, it’s hers again.  If she doesn’t, it’s ours,” said Bellamy.  He saw appreciative grins from the back of the group.  He chuckled, putting the sapphire back into his pocket.  One of the little girls tugged at his jacket. 

“Is the princess as pretty as the posters?” she asked. 

 Bellamy smiled good-naturedly.  

“I cannot lie, the princess Clarke is indeed beautiful.  I hope to see her again very soon.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it! Also love the kudos and feedback! If the exchanges seemed short, just know that there is more on the way. Don't worry, this camp will resurface in later chapters. :) 
> 
>  
> 
> For those of you wondering...
> 
> Le meme jour - the same day  
> gendarbres - gen d'arbres - people of trees - TriKru
> 
> 1334 falls into Renaissance so mythology references are a go! 
> 
> Please leave a comment!


	3. Les Mains Curatives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Princesse enters a village

_**le 5 avril, 1334** _

           Clarke opened her eyes as the morning birds began twittering in the trees above her. She rose off her deerskin pelt as beams of sunlight streamed through the cave opening. Well, her little home was not quite a cave, just a small depression underneath a boulder, where time had carved a cozy place for her. But it was dry, warm, and clean, all that Clarke needed. She dusted her clothes off and dressed, attempting to comb her curls away from her face. She opened her pouch, inside it depositing little bunches of herbs and vials of oils that she had arranged on a little rock shelf in the cave. “Rosemary, aloe, bilberry. I have to get more chicory,” Clarke mumbled to herself, stepping out into the warm French wilderness. _Quel beau jour_. Her little abode was near a brook, only a few minutes’ walk from a trail to the King’s Road. She quickly splashed water on her face, and then began walking towards the road                                                            

    As the sun stretched towards the middle of the sky, Clarke came upon a peddler’s wagon, wheels rolling with creaks as the old horse plodded along. _Fantastique._ She grinned, taking a running leap to jump on the back end. As the wagon bounced, she heard a sputter of curse, and the horse slowed to a halt. She slid back down to the ground as the driver came around the corner.

    “Ah, Murphy. So nice to see you again,” said Clarke with a cheeky grin.

   “What in hell, Griffin? You dumb thieves are always trying to wreck my cart,” Jean Murphy said with a huff, checking for fractures in the wood. He was a slim man around the same height as Clarke, his vestments a bizarre array of rags and fine cloth, typical of a peddler.

     “If that ancient thing of yours ever breaks, I’ll be the first to step in line to help repair it. Now, what do you have for me today?”

    Murphy’s expression slid from a scowl to a smirk.

 “I heard about that fine heist of yours yesterday. Care to trade for some nice Persian silk?” he leered.

       Clarke frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous. Cotton wraps and chicory, do you have that?” Murphy turned, thumbing through some of his wares. He handed Clarke a handful of cloth and a small bag. She in turn dropped some coins into his greasy palm.

Murphy’s smile became snide. “What can I offer you for one of Lady Sydney’s jewels? Unless you want to keep those for yourself, Princess?”

     Clarke glared at him, removing a ruby from her pouch and holding it up to the light. “You better have something that could cure a plague if you want this.”

Murphy eyed it carefully. “You wouldn’t happen to have a sapphire now, would you?”

       Clarke rolled her eyes. “ _Merde_ , you want the sapphire, go barter with Bellamy Blake for it.”

Murphy’s eyes light up with realization and he sneered again. “Ah, don’t worry about it Princess. We’ve all been on the receiving end of Bellamy’s charm.”

      “Are you going to make me an offer, or are you going to stand there and insult me all day?” Clarke snapped.

Murphy raised his hands in submission, rummaging through his stores once more. “These are best spices I have with me right now. Ginger and cinnamon, from India. Good for stomach pain,   vomiting, and indigestion.” He offered her two fist-sized jars of the spices. Clarke considered it for a moment, and then nodded, handing him the ruby. “A jewel per jar, your Highness,” said     Murphy, withholding the ginger.

     Clarke groaned, reaching into her pocket and extracting an emerald. “You’re a weasel, do you know how hard it was to steal these?” she said sourly, dropping it into his hand. He handed her the ginger with a smile.

    “No, I am simply smart. I’m sure your mother would reward me quite handsomely if I promised her that I could lure you into a trap and escort you back to your palace. But, I prefer the sentimental tokens you steal over a sack of gold.” Murphy caught the hurt expression on Clarke’s face and his tone softened slightly.

     “I don’t suppose we thank you enough, Jean. We bandits. You could easily turn us in, at far better profit than what we ‘ave given you.”

  Murphy shook his head. “I prefer _le marché noir_ to bribery. I’m an honest businessman, after all, Mademoiselle Griffin.” He saluted her and walked back to the front of the wagon, clucking the horse forward.

     Clarke sighed, patting her pouch and feeling the three remaining jewels within. _I have to get that sapphire back_.

       After walking for about half an hour, Clarke reached the outskirts of Ton deÇay. It was a quaint little town, filled with thatched houses and fields where sheep roamed free. She knocked on the door with a sewing needle sign hanging over it. An elderly woman opened it, smiling at her cheerfully. “Mademoiselle Griffin, come in!”

    Clarke entered, removing the hood from her head. The main room was warm, heated by the glowing hearth in the corner. “In here,” the old woman gestured, pointing her towards a side chamber.

       “ _Merci_ , Rita,” said Clarke. She walked over, pulling back the ragged veil. “Bonjour, Harper. _Ça va?_ ” The young woman lying on the bed smiled at Clarke, her newborn resting in her arms.    

 “ _Ça va_. This little one is quite the good sleeper.” Clarke grinned, pulling the cotton wraps out of her pouch.

      “For your bleeding. How is it?”

  Harper winced slightly. “The worst of it was three days ago. Now it’s just sensitive. A few spatters every while or so.”

     Clarke laid the wraps next to her on the bed. “Change them as soon as possible. Dirty rags are a risk of infection.”

She turned to Rita. “Everything’s being rinsed and washed regularly?” she asked.

     “Oui, mademoiselle. This is not my first time with an infant,” said Rita pointedly.

Clarke looked down, muttering a quick apology. She turned to Harper, noticing that her baby was stirring. “Can I hold her for a moment?” Clarke extended her arms as Harper lifted the baby upwards. She cradled Harper’s daughter against her chest, scanning her for signs of illness as her blonde hair hovered over the baby’s cheeks. “Very small, but very healthy. She has good color, and your eyes.” Clarke said, carefully handing her back to Harper.

     “How old is she?”

“Five days old.”

      “And have you felt any nausea since you began feeding her?”

    Harper shrugged, and then nodded. Clarke took out a handkerchief and flattened it on the table. She poured a spoon-sized amount of ginger and cinnamon onto it. “Put a pinch of these on your food when you eat. They taste very strong, so I suggest ingesting them with some raspberries.” Clarke’s hand went to her pouch as she pulled out a sprig of rosemary. “If you or her feels sickly, grind this up and put it on your meat.” She placed the rosemary next to the powders, and then glanced around the room, assessing if she had done enough. “I’ll be in the village all today and the next. If you need anything, you know how to find me.” Harper and Rita nodded as Clarke repacked her pouch.

      Rita stopped her before she opened the door. “Please, take some food, Clarke. You look hungry.” she offered her a few slices of bread and an apple.

   Clarke accepted it and left the cottage, flipping her hood up as she peered down the street. She spotted a white cloth draped over a shutter five houses down. She knocked on the door. After a few moments of a shuffling noise, a slim, black-haired young man opened the door.

 “Oh, hello, Clarke.” He stepped aside to let her enter the cottage.

     “Bonjour Monty, who here needs my help?” asked Clarke. Monty directed her to the shivering girl on the pallet.

“Fox has come down with some sort of fever.” Clarke took a cloth out of her pouch and wet it with water from the flask hanging on her belt.

      She held her hand to the girl’s forehead and then laid the cloth on it.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

     For all the thieving her nimble hands could do, Clarke preferred to sew wounds shut and heal whomever she could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!  
> So, I'm glad that I was finally able to get through this chapter. I'm a very slow updater, even if I don't have a busy workload.  
> I did end it in a weird place but I promise it will make sense with the next chapter.  
> And... I know that this fic's not bad, but I could really use some feedback. I want to know if I'm getting the characters right. A comment means everything to me. 
> 
> Les Mains Curatives - The Healing Hands  
> Quel beau jour - What a beautiful day  
> Fantastique - Fantastic  
> Merde - Shit  
> Le marche noir - Black Market  
> Merci - Thank you  
> Ca va? Ca va. - How are you? I am well.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I gladly encourage you to comment and give feedback. I promise you that this is not a story that I will abandon. I have an idea where to go, but life and lack of motivation always get in the way. I included a couple lines of simply pretty prose, as I want to work on incorporating that style of writing into my work. I hope it was well done.  
> Can't wait to share what I have next! 
> 
> P.S. For those of you who've read my Narnia AU... I'm back to working on it! I hope to update soon!


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